Mithrim
by perelleth
Summary: The Noldor in both sides of Lake Mithrim. Last chapter: "Reunion, the usurpers" The fëanorians meet their betrayed kin in North Mithrim. Huan's POV. COMPLETE.
1. South Mithrim

**Disclaimer: **They're all Tolkien's, not mine.

Thanks to Vana Tuivana for her helpful advice and comments.

**SOUTH MITHRIM: **

Fëanáro's brood, seen through the friendly eye of Huan, Celegorm's hound, at the time they moved camp to South Mithrim. Six drabbles –exactly 100 words except the title-, Huan's pov.

**I. Kinslayers**

Oath-takers, kinslayers, ship-burners, dispossessed; betrayers of their people, angry ghosts of revenge, descended upon Morgoth under the wings of their mighty rage…

Haughty children of the greatest among the Firstborn, he who brought his own demise in his madness and his arrogance, they were beautiful to behold, in wrath as well as in peace.

Grieving sons, caring brethren, thoughtful rulers of doomed people, stranded scions of fate, they carried their burden with pride.

Singers, hunters, warriors, crafters of beauty, husbands, friends and lovers, all consumed in the unquenchable fire of their curse…

I was honoured to be counted among them.

**II. Hasty riser**

We used to climb a small hill before dawn, my master and I, and look northwards. He'd curse and rage, fists raised against the unyielding mountains. He'd weep, too.

I knew him better than most; we had learnt to hunt together, following the hosts of Oromë. I'd seen him await his chance calmly, melting into the forest, belying his mother-name, "_Tyelkormo"_.

I loved him well, but that wasn't enough to make me speak words of comfort to him. The compassion I had glimpsed in his eyes in front of dying beasts was lost since Alqualondë, and that made me wary.

_Tyelkormo: Celegorm's mother- name, meaning "hasty riser"_

**III. Dispossessed**

In the mornings, I'd follow the twins.

Those two still resembled their old mischievous selves, though somewhat wilder.

Their antics were as welcome as their help. We three could pretend we were back in Formenos, wandering around the encampment, looking for ways to entertain ourselves - being useful or outcast - while awaiting the next hunt.

And still, they were not the same; something was frozen in their eyes.

A harsh rebuke or a not so playful shove would put me on edge and make me grunt menacingly.

"_You're frightening Huan, brother!"_ one would smile; but their smiles were feigned.

**IV. In the forge. (With Curufin and Celebrimbor)**

"_One of these days, I shall forge a stronger collar for you, Huan, lest you run into one of Morgoth's beasts out there…"_

Intended to be kind, those words always managed to make me uneasy.

His father had shaped a silver collar for me when I first went home with _Tyelko_, a work of art,_ "Turko's hound deserves no less"_ he'd said.

Yet, as I enjoyed the warmth of the forge in the cold midday mists of South Mithrim, watching father and son work their magic by the flames, Curufin's words only reminded me of the Doom we all shared.

_Turko: Celegorm's father name, Strong one_

**V. Morifinwë **

He was good at hunting, killing, doing whatever was needed without fussing.

He wasn't good, though, at suffering fools or listening to idle words. He hated unnecessary arguments, and usually cut down to the heart of things. He had a focused mind, and the inner fire that had burnt their father alive.

I guess he was the first to come to terms with their deeds.

His eyes would stray northwards, then to me, then down to the ground, as if we were to unearth some mighty doom to overcome Morgoth's stronghold.

Fists clenched tightly, his growls were wilder than mine.

_Morifinwë: Caranthir_

**VI. The singer**

We all had our evening meal with Makalaurë.

Around the fire, they chattered and gossiped and even joked, trying to ignore the vacant place among us.

At night, I'd stay by his side.

I knew my words would be needed before the end, so I'd howl instead, joining the mightiest of singers in his woeful lament.

He wished his powerful voice could carry across those dreary peaks, and bring some comfort to the one they never spoke of, the one who was lost, the one who would have been king…

I wondered whether our wails would reach the northern shore.

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	2. North Mithrim

**Disclaimer: **They're all Tolkien's, not mine. 

Many, many thanks to Vana Tuivana for her insightful comments.

A/N I'm using Quenya names following HoME 12, "The shibboleth of Fëanor." I'm also considering Nolofinwë and Arafinwë's children as a whole family, so Itaril refers to his Atar's cousins as "uncles and aunt", (_Silm chap. 4 referring to Finarfin's sons: "Those four were as close in friendship with the sons of Fingolfin as though they were all brothers")_

**NORTH MITHRIM**

Nolofinwë and his children as seen through the eyes of Itaril –Idril- Turgon's daughter, at the time they were settling down in North Mithrim. Eight drabbles, Itaril's pov.

**I. North Mithrim**

It was long before I was able to wake up and feel not the need to weep at the sight of a roof and walls around me, and birds on trees across the window.

The cruelty and despair of the Helcaraxë had cast a dark veil upon memories of light and happiness, until we were numb. Then, the light of Vása, the works of Yavanna and Elbereth's stars brought us back some comfort and sense of pride.

A carved chair or an ornate tool left behind by our kin would remind us of those who had moved south.

Exiles, too.

_ºVása: "heart of fire" the name the Noldor gave to the last fruit of Laurelin at the time it first appeared_

**II. Grandfather **

"_Ingoldoº says Vásaº goes back to Valinor every night, to tell Manwë and Elbereth how we're faring. Is that so, grandfather?"_

Busy as he was, he always found time to spend with me in the evenings, to talk about our things, or go for an adventurous stroll full of discoveries, like we used to do in Tirion.

Only it was Ar-Feiniel's voice to call us in for dinner, instead of grandmother's. He missed her dearly, though he never told us. He was the one everybody turned to for strength, and all I wanted was to comfort him in some way.

_º"Ingoldo": **The** Noldo, Finrod's mother-name, said to mean "One eminent in the kindred" and "by it he was known among those who esteemed him." _

**III. The Vala**

Back in Tirion, I used to think Findekáno was a Vala.

He was tall and mighty, always gentle with the little ones; he wielded his sword gracefully and he glared at the elflings that played tricks with my plaits in a most menacing manner.

"I know you're a Vala, Uncle, but your secret's safe with me…" 

"_I'll be a Vala for you, sweetheart," _he had promised, half seriously.

Even now, as I see him working restlessly, that grim look upon his eyes, sadness and guilt carved upon his fair face, I can't help but smile.

"_You're still my Vala, Uncle"_

**IV. The Noldoº**

Ingoldo always reminded me of my Ammë. Not only because of his fair mane, which he carelessly tied back in a loose tail. He, too, was patient, caring and loving, and I felt safe by his side.

He could mend broken toys, and bring laughter out of tears, and tell stories and sing beautiful songs…He'd carve figurines in the ice; when Ránaº first came he invented a tale about Tilionº, we still sing the verses he made up for Vása…

Atar was happier when Ingoldo was around, like everybody else.

And I wondered where he hid to do his crying.

_ºRána:" the wanderer", the name the Noldor gave to the moon, due to his irregular course_

**V. I Wendiº (The Girls)**

Atar used to frown when I said I admired my aunts: tall and beautiful, skilled and determined, good riders and proven hunters.

He'd roll his eyes, too, when I asked for siblings I could order around like Artanis and Ar-Feiniel did.

Atar claimed that my aunts were reckless and stubborn, and that no daughter of his would ever be caught in such companies as they kept…

He must have changed his mind, though, for now he encourages me to follow them around the encampment, bringing help and comfort to those who have less than I do, or have lost more.

_ºWendi: Quenya for "girls" Affectionate nick for Ar-feiniel (Aredhel) and Artanis (Galadriel)_

**VI. I Torni º (The brothers)**

_"Please, don't tell your Atar I let you ride my horse, Itaril, or I'm done!"_

Aikanáro knows how much I love riding, and so he indulges me as often as he can.

He's the uncle I see as a brother, the most optimistic and energetic of _"i torni",_ as grandfather affectionately calls Arafinwë's younger sons.

Angaráto and Artaher are different, sterner, as most of us are since the Ice. Yet the three of them can be found wherever there's hard work to do, always ready to give a hand, or a smile, to help dispel a passing cloud of despair.

_º I Torni: Quenya: The brothers. AikanároAegnor. Angaráto:Angrod, Artaher Orodreth_

**VII. Atar**

He's called "The Wise", and for most of my life I've turned to him when I've needed answers: Why birds can fly while I cannot, which is the best tool for carving limestone, why the Trees never sleep, why Fëanáro always looks angry, why some words sound better than others, where do my dreams come from…

I still burn with questions, but now I'm old enough to know that _not even the very wise know all ends_º, so I don't ask him why we're here, why Ammë died and where has she gone, or if we'll ever meet her again.

_Atar: Quenya, for "Father"_

_A/N º purposely borrowed from FOTR, "The shadow from the past" cause it sprang to my keyboard and it seemed so in place._

**VIII. Ammë**

She was home to me. The cold began after she was gone.

She was tall and blond, sweet and caring; her voice was a summer breeze, her eyes as the mingling of the Trees.

When she danced, Nessa would stop to watch her. When she sang, Estë was reminded of Melian, a Maia who once taught the birds in her gardens…

When she spoke to me, I felt that Manwë himself could be no wiser. Atar and I felt happy and complete when she was with us.

She was home to me. I began to forget after she was gone.

_Ammë: Quenya for Mother_

Thanks to Unsung Heroine and Copper Arrow, for their kind reviews, and to Vana, too, reviewing South Mithrim was well beyond the call of duty! ;-)


	3. Homecoming

  
**HOMECOMING.**

The cousins come home. I know it's been done bazillions of times, but, please, bear with me…

Two drabbles, Huan and Itaril's POV

**Homecoming, South Mithrim. (Huan's pov)**

"_Tell Fëanáro that I've brought his son home_".

Findekáno was delirious. Was he, truly? I could almost feel the mighty smith's feä lingering there, among his stunned children.

The feud, and its healer. The fool, and a greater one.

A heap of bloody limbs and broken feä, Russandol was a ghost of former strength.

Yet he lived, and Makalaurë would make sure he'd continue to do so, calling out for the healers in his powerful voice. As they lay there, exhausted, one holding, one being held, I thought the cousins were evidence that even Mandos could be defied and defeated.

**Homecoming, North Mithrim. (Itaril's pov) **

"_A Vala, indeed."_

Was there pain, hurt, love, hate, anger, jealousy, grudge, affection, compassion, pride? Those days, my Atar was a riddle to me.

Uncle was a mess. Nobody knew for sure, but everybody suspected. The foul vapours that had disturbed us by the lakeside must have been thicker up there in the mountains; he had trouble speaking and even breathing.

He didn't expect us to understand or to forgive. A pained look in his eyes was the only explanation he'd offer. _"I'm sorry Atar, but I did what needed to be done,"_ it said. I learnt that lesson well.

Thanks to those who reviewed!


	4. Reunion: Lost Kin

**Disclaimer: **They're all Tolkien's, not mine.

**A/N. **Thanks again to those who reviewed and took the time to let me know. There's just one more to go. Please read and enjoy!

**REUNION: LOST KIN**

Itaril watches as her Fëanorian relatives make their way towards them, and wonders what lies beneath the stern and proud surface. Itaril's POV

**I. Fear and Sorrow. **

They came with little fanfare: the Fëanorians, two guards, a standard-bearer and a great hound. They wore black, the colour of doom. Royals mourn in white, Atar said once.

Russandol came first. I remembered him well, Uncle's best friend, tall, courteous, strong. He seemed now a candle that's been burning for too long, an empty shell with vacant eyes, someone who has known fear by name and is trying to forget.

Makalaurë was by his side, as if fuelling life into him. The joyful singer who had given me my first harp seemed now a stricken creature, bowed by grief.

**II. Pride and hound. **

The one behind them looked like one of those proud horses that know too well they're being admired. They're graceful but stubborn, lively but skittish, self-willed and deceitful, they shake their long manes and try to dismount you at the slightest provocation. They need masterful riders who hold them short and tight and show them the way with tender but firm hand.

The hound walked proudly by his side, his yellow eyes searching our faces, his tail coming alive at the sight of my aunt. Uncle was not the only one who had friends in the other camp, I thought.

**III. Darkness. **

Three and twoº, they came next. Dark heads, dark eyes, pale faces, haunted looks, they reminded me of some of our children: motherless, stunned, groping blindly in search of what they once had, vulnerable, wondering how and why their world was suddenly shattered into pieces, dealing blows to those offering help… The Ice has done that to most of us. Comfort was given as often as taken, among us.

But these Fëanorians… I wondered what darkness had they waded through, what pain and sorrow had they endured that'd turned them so hopelessly sad in my eyes. I pitied them, then.

_º: Curufin, Caranthir, Celebrimbor and the twins, three and two._


	5. Reunion: Usurpers

We're done. Thanks to those who have followed this well-known Silm chapter revisited. I'm truly grateful to Vana Tuivana for her insights and her commas, and to those who read and let me know, thanks.

Please read and enjoy.

**REUNION: THE USURPERS **

The Fëanorians meet their betrayed kin. Huan ponders the familiar faces and greets the High King of the Noldor in exile. Huan's POV.

**I. The Children.**

We marched up proudly, among hostile looks, to where the usurpers stood.

The dark heads were there: the Valiant, unreadable, his brother, looking upon us with hatred and contempt, the beautiful maiden who should've been one of us. The child among them I didn't recognize.

The golden heads stood to the right. Two were like my twins: lively, mischievous, dangerous. Another, impassive and aloof. The maiden's glare unnerved me for an unknown reason. The older one, the ever inquisitive and adventurous child who had once tried to teach me stealth, was leveling upon us his steady and compassionate gaze.

**II. The King**. 

He stood there. This was a King we all would follow to the depths of Morgoth's pits and beyond the walls of the world, if need arose. Proud and mighty, his stance asserted his birthright, his inner fire the strength to hold that claim. I shivered in anticipation, the display of authority and sheer power raking through my nerves. That was our King!

Suddenly, one of his red plaits hit my muzzle, and I almost yelped in despair, as I looked up wildly and saw him kneeling before another, his bandaged stump to his heart, pledging loyalty to the usurper.

**III. Nolofinwë**

I stood in proud -if stunned- defiance, as he studied us all with his grey gaze. Never before had I noticed how much he resembled his half-brother. There was something in his eyes, though, that I could not wholly place. There was pain, compassion, anger, guilt, blame. Under that piercing stare, I froze. I owed something to this one, I realized, for I, too, had ran away cowardly before Melko, leaving his sire to die aloneº...

As my king had done before, and despite my master's angry hiss, I bowed to the son of Finwë. The rest followed as one.

_ºI'm following the Silm, "for Finwë alone had not fled from the horror of the Dark..." (Chap.9,the flight of the Noldor) Of course, Huan sees himself as "standing" and "bowing," he's one of them! _


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